


Before We Hit the Ground

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-25
Updated: 2015-09-25
Packaged: 2018-04-23 05:25:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4864745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It seems like this whole going-to-college thing was a big mistake. Three weeks in, Dean's got nothing but a weird roommate who always insists on dragging him to parties and, well, loneliness.</p><p>Enter Castiel, the guy Dean meets at one of the aforementioned parties.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Before We Hit the Ground

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jokerindisguise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jokerindisguise/gifts).



> Just a little something written as a birthday present for Melody. Look, I'm not late this year! I hope you enjoy this, hon. ♥ Love you bunches!

“I hate you,” Dean says grumpily when Balthazar rings the doorbell at a giant house, a good twenty minute drive from their campus. 

“You love me, darling,” the other boy protests and smirks at him, winking. “Listen, you’re holed up in our dorm all the damn week, and I feel kind of responsible for you, so don’t hold it against me if I want you to go out on Friday.”

“Yeah, every damn Friday. I hate you,” Dean repeats again.

This has been going on steadily ever since Balthazar showed up big-style just before classes kicked off. Dean’s the lucky one who got him for a roommate – so, dirty socks everywhere, as well as used plates and candy wrappers. Plus, all these parties. Every single freaking week. 

Which, Dean could just say no, that’s true, but in a way, that’s pretty difficult to do. Balthazar is right about one thing: Dean does spend all of his time inside and even though he’d prefer a nice evening at some diner, by the end of the week he’s frustrated enough to not negotiate. 

Balthazar shrugs it off with another all-knowing grin and as the door opens, the conversation is over. The music, which Dean could hear through the open windows, seems to amplify as they step in.

The host is a red-headed girl that hugs Balthazar as if they’ve known each other for ages, and ushers them both inside. “I’m Anna!” she introduces herself over the music. “Beer’s in the kitchen.”

“That doesn’t help anything,” Dean mumbles when she walks off with that, heading for a smaller group of people in the corner of the room with a laugh already on her lips. The house is freaking giant and Dean has no idea how to get anywhere. The hallway itself is bigger than their dorm room.

Balthazar rolls his eyes. “I’ll get us some drinks,” he announces and walks off just as easily as Anna did.

Which is part of the routine. Balthazar walking off, that is. It seems that his mission is simply getting Dean to the party, and then it’s fend-for-yourself-Winchester. That usually means that Dean will stay for a bit, maybe try to chat up some girl or guy, and then walk back to campus. Not a chance of that tonight – the car they used to get here is Balthazar’s and Dean doesn’t have the key.

The drinks Balthazar went to fetch never happen, of course. The next time Dean sees him – when he finally navigates the crowd to the living room – he’s already talking to some girl, leaning against the wall with a beer in his hand. Just one beer. Dean’s not invited.

Dean doesn’t feel like searching for the mystical kitchen himself, but he doesn’t have to. Some guy, already tipsy, shoves a red paper cup into Dean’s hands with a loud, “Drink up, brother!” as if he took pity on him.

Yup, Dean is definitely the person sitting awkwardly on the couch next to a couple that’s too into making out and crawling over each other to notice him. Very movie-like, and as uncomfortable as you’d imagine. His only companion is the half-empty cup.

The highlight of his evening is when someone finally changes the music. It’s only something alternative rock-ish, but still better than the pop trash that echoed through the house before. 

If Balthazar was here instead of probably making out with someone? Dean would just tell him he hates him again.

“Not a big fan of parties, are you?” 

Dean turns to the side, startled, surprised that someone is actually talking to him. That ‘someone’ is a dark-haired boy, probably a bit older than Dean, sitting on the couch’s armrest, looking down at him with interest. He, too, has a red paper cup, but it’s empty and he’s toying with it absent-mindedly, as if to keep his hands busy.

“Not really, no,” Dean replies after a few seconds of consideration. The guy is attractive enough; when he smiles, it goes all the way up to his eyes, which is where most of the attractiveness lies – they’re crazy-blue, and light up his entire face. And, okay, the face itself isn’t all that bad either.

“Want to get out?” the guy asks, still with that smile.

Dean’s eyebrows shoot up. “Excuse me?”

He doesn’t mind hook-ups, or one-night stands at that matter, but he prefers to go about it differently; no rough edges, at least a bit of annoying small talk and a seemingly shy first kiss to seal the deal. This is a bit straight-forward, even for him.

The boy shrugs. “Anna informed me we’re short on beer so I’m going to go buy some. Do you want to come with?”

“Oh,” Dean breathes out. His eyes skim the room, but Balthazar is still preoccupied with his flirting business and it’s not like there’s anything else holding him here. “Okay, I guess.”

The guy’s smile deepens as he gets up from the armrest and motions for Dean to follow him. Dean practically jumps up, throwing a side-glance at the making out pair – he won’t miss them. 

He watches as the boy grabs his hoodie and throws it over his shoulders easily, fishing out his car keys out of his jeans pocket. Without another word, he walks out of the house, and Dean, well, he keeps on following him. The car they head to is one of the nice ones, parked right in front of the house; whoever he is, he somehow got this privileged spot.

“I’m Castiel,” he informs Dean once they get inside the car and the engine hums to life. “Anna’s brother.”

Oh, so that’s how he got that spot. He lives here. “I’m Dean. I don’t really know your sister at all.”

Castiel shrugs. “Well, half of the people inside don’t. When she throws a party, a lot of people get invited by proxy.”

“Yeah, my roommate dragged me here.”

“Poor you,” Castiel comments, but Dean has a hard time deciphering whether he’s being serious or not. “So you live…?”

“Dorms. Don’t think I’d take Balthazar for a roommate just ‘cause.”

“Oh, _he’s_ your roommate.”

The car navigates the streets smoothly; Dean can tell they’re headed for gas station, as the local supermarket closed about an hour ago. It’s still a few blocks away, but somehow, this is not uncomfortable. Actually, talking to Castiel is, to be honest, ten times better than the party ever was. Than _any_ of the parties he attended was. 

“The guy got here three weeks ago, how does he already have a reputation?” Dean laughs.

“He likes parties, for one, which we can’t say about us.”

“You don’t like ‘em?”

“Not one bit,” Castiel nods, his fingers tapping against the wheel quietly. He casts a quick look Dean’s way and they exchange a small smile, as if they both decided to bond over this. Dean kind of has, to be honest.

“So what’s it like living with a person who likes to throw them?” Dean inquires, to keep the conversation going and because he genuinely wants to know. 

Castiel groans. “Hell. I mean, it’s Friday night and I’d rather run errands for her than stay there. That has to stand for something.”

Dean laughs, the sound easy as it bubbles up his throat. Castiel catches it, as well as Dean’s expression, and for some reason, it makes Dean blush. He looks to the side, seems to scoot closer to the window, and opts to stare out rather than return Castiel’s look.

They get to the gas station soon enough so the silence doesn’t get uncomfortable or make either of them feel uneasy. They walk inside together, side by side, and Dean doesn’t even stop to question it. He didn’t think this is where the night would take him, and he’s not sure why Cas asked him to come anyway, but here’s the thing: he doesn’t give a damn. He’s enjoying himself too much for that.

They end up buying two six-packs of the cheapest beer and a pack of Doritos, for them to eat on the drive back. 

Walking back up to the car, each carrying one six-pack, they shove them into the car’s trunk and Castiel slams it close. Dean rubs his hands over his jeans absent-mindedly and quite sub-consciously, he leans against the car.

“Man, I gotta say, I don’t really wanna go back to that party,” he admits, although rather quietly. 

Castiel leans against the car next to Dean, their shoulders brushing. “Me neither. Do you want to eat the Doritos now?”

Dean laughs, shrugging. “Sure, why not.”

It only takes a moment before they grease their fingers up, Castiel holding the pack up for them. They laugh about the gas station’s cashier and his expression when he saw two guys buying two six-packs, and Dean feels like a giddy idiot. When they start making up stories about the people who stop by, ranging from a ‘pole dancer rushing to work’ and a ‘divorced man with dirty-sock issues’ (which Dean totally took from Balthazar’s issues of the same kind), it feels _good_.

He hasn’t laughed like this since… well, pre-college. Even though it sounds silly when he thinks about it, bizarre, almost. But some things just _are_ , without him having to question them, and this is very close to an evening well-spent anyway.

They finish the pack way too soon and as Castiel walks away to toss it away, slight dread creeps up on Dean. They’ll probably part at the party and this will all be over, and he’ll be stuck there until who knows when, watching everyone else chatting each other up, kissing, dancing, leaving together, and he’ll just _be_ there, as always. Who knows where Cas’ll end up – probably holed up in his room or in someone else’s, he has the means to be able to choose.

Dean sighs but forces out a slight smile as he watches Cas walk back to him, and that smile is still stretching his lips when the boy stops right in front of Dean and leans in for a kiss.

It’s not forced, and Castiel doesn’t give Dean any time to react; it’s more of a peck on the lips rather than a real kiss. He pulls away practically right away, leaving Dean gasping and shocked and with his lips parted.

There’s a question plastered on Castiel’s face, and Dean is fast to answer it.

Hands awkward, by his sides, he leans forward and steals Cas’ lips again, heaving a sigh of relief when the boy doesn’t pull away this time.

“I _really_ don’t want to go back to that party,” Castiel breathes against Dean’s lip, hot and close, between kisses.

Honestly, the only thing Dean really wants to do right now is to catch Cas’ bottom lip between his teeth and bite at it playfully. He wants to draw a reaction.

“What about those beers, though?” he sighs instead, but even as they pull apart, Dean is painfully aware of Cas’ hands on his hips and he can’t help but stare down, where Cas’ lips glisten in the reflection of the gas station’s neon signs, wet and kissed and perfect.

Castiel laughs, his fingers trying to dig their way through the fabric of Dean’s shirt. “Who gives a damn?”

“Don’t think I do,” Dean shakes his head.

Castiel smiles, and Dean would know, because he still can’t tear his eyes away. “Me neither, Dean.”

Dean’s fingers clutch the thick fabric of Castiel’s hoodie and pull at it slightly, as if trying to bring the boy closer. “Screw them, then.”

Castiel goes with Dean’s pull, resting most of his weight against him and closing his mouth over Dean’s again, his tongue sliding over Dean’s bottom lip carefully.

This is in _no way happening_. It’s too good. God, Dean could actually… well, not kiss, but maybe pat Balthazar on the shoulder for dragging him to that party. 

_Balthazar._

Dean pushes at Castiel’s shoulders; turns out it’s easier to pull Cas in then shove him away. 

“Listen, Balthazar is at the party,” Dean breathes. 

Castiel frowns. “So?”

“That means my dorm room is… available.” Dean blushes at the thought. He’s not quite sure how good they’d be at sneaking in, not quite sure whether Castiel would be quiet enough or not, but it’s better than going back to the party. It’s so much better. 

Castiel swallows, closes his mouth for a second. “Are you sure?” he asks, his frown still visible, tying a creased pattern over his forehead. 

Hell yeah, Dean is sure. They’re in the car within minutes.

The fifteen minute drive (the gas station was in the same direction as the campus) is excruciating and Dean spends it thinking about how inappropriate it would be to touch Cas, or to touch himself right now, because he _wants_ so hard it’s almost impossible.

Their sneaking-in skills prove to be poor but still good enough to get them in without really getting spotted – if you don’t count two laughing girls falling out of a room just as Dean and Cas are walking by – and they stumble into Dean’s room successfully.

Cas’ lips are on Dean’s the second the door closes and Dean locks it behind them, not even caring that he’s locking Balthazar out. _Who gives a damn?_ It’s so very easy to get lost in Castiel’s mouth, in the way it takes over Dean’s and claims it over and over again. It’s all careful movements and bites until Castiel’s tongue licks into Dean’s mouth and meets with Dean’s, and okay, it feels pretty damn amazing.

Castiel is pretty damn amazing at kissing. 

“Mm – ” he trails off, intending to say _My bed’s over there_ , but the way Cas’ waist rolls against his takes the words off his mouth and turns them into a satisfied groan. 

Talking is not an option right now, not with Cas doing… all this, so Dean grabs at his hoodie again and simply pulls him in the right direction until they fall on top of the bed in a messy pile, Castiel automatically straddling Dean’s hips. Their kissing grows disorganized for a second, if it ever was organized to begin with, until Dean’s hands land on Cas’ hips and Cas shrugs off the hoodie.

They’re both sitting up, but only for a while – soon enough, Castiel pushes against Dean’s chest until Dean has to lie down, Castiel leaning over him with a smirk.

“You have no idea how happy I am about this,” Castiel admits with a huffed laugh to finish off the sentence.

Dean rolls his hips to the extent that this position allows him, and he grins. “I think I’ve got a pretty good idea, Cas.”

Castiel laughs again, bows his head so as to shield himself from Dean’s stare, and he shakes it when he looks up. “No, seriously. I saw you sitting there at the party and I just… I wanted you.”

“I knew the beer was just a trick to get me to go with you,” Dean smiles.

“And you did. Go with me.”

“Yeah. I did,” Dean nods, biting down on his lip and licking it over just a second later. “I wanted you, too.”

It seems to be all the permission that Castiel needs, because he goes back to kissing almost immediately. His mouth is a modern day miracle and Dean opens up to it without hesitation, without a second thought.

Castiel’s hands are everywhere, sneaking their way underneath Dean’s shirt, rubbing his sides in a way that doesn’t make Dean giggle because it tickles; it makes him arch his back because it feels amazing. Cas seems to know exactly which buttons to push, and Dean doesn’t quite know if it’s because he’s so easy to play or because Cas simply _knows_ , somehow.

“Less clothes,” Cas breathes out a good few minutes into it and, to be honest, Dean agrees whole-heartedly. 

They strip, the room filled with their uneven breathing, both of them eager to go back to kissing, to exploring, to making the best of the night. Because this _is_ the best.

Both aroused, they lie back down on Dean’s bed, facing each other, Castiel’s fingers wrapped over the nape of Dean’s neck, rubbing at it gently as they go on kissing.

Dean’s hands are restless, though, begging him to start touching, be it himself or Castiel.

They are blissfully naked and the room is tiny enough to gather warmth around them, enclose them in their own special bubble. The light on Dean’s nightstand is on, and as it falls over Cas’ shoulders, it makes his skin look tanned, darker, but he’d be more than beautiful even without it.

Breaking the kiss, Dean shifts on the bed slightly and grants himself a moment of simply looking, up Cas’ thighs and over his cock, hardened and thick, and, okay, he gets stuck there. 

“Wanna make you feel good,” Dean murmurs, his kiss-swollen lips forming around the words, as if he felt the need to explain himself before reaching out and wrapping his fingers around Castiel after wetting them with spit.

Castiel sighs, a sound stuck between a moan and a gasp, and he tenses for a second before relaxing into the touch. Dean runs his thumb over the head of Cas’ dick carefully, tentative and seemingly unsure until Cas thrusts into it.

“Let me,” Castiel trails off, reaching out and mirroring Dean’s movements, his hand perfect around the base of Dean’s cock. 

Dean’s eyes flutter close after that, his hips moving of their own accord, terribly out of sync with Cas. He doesn’t have much control over his limbs, but Cas is thrusting into Dean’s palm just as well, frantic and wet.

“Fuck,” Dean squeezes out; for some reason, he feels like his chest would burst open if he didn’t speak up, and the word flies out as if someone punched the air out of him. 

It probably takes them long minutes to come like this, their movements uneven and messy, jerky even, but Dean can’t focus on the real world; in his brain, it only takes a little while before his thighs start trembling with anticipation and his stomach ties with the oncoming orgasm.

“Yeah?” Cas mumbles, somehow still able to speak while Dean’s mouth is already open wide, his eyes closed, face scrunched up.

Instead of replying, his free hand goes up and claws at Cas’ chest, his thrusts erratic, and the only thing that could make this better would be having Cas inside him, so he would have something to squeeze around. Dean’s hand just barely reaches Cas’ shoulder and his fingers barely dig in when he finally comes; he’s not really aware, but the thing that sends him off the edge is the moan finally rolling off Castiel’s mouth, heavy and low and yes, very loud.

Dean tries, but it’s difficult to focus on anything but his orgasm and Cas has to do the rest himself; thrusting into Dean’s palm, muttering, “c’mon, c’mon” like a mantra, he comes shortly after, both of their hands stained, both of their chests heaving under uneven, rushed breaths.

 _That was amazing_ , Dean thinks to himself, but he’d be embarrassed to say it out loud, no matter how true it is. When he finally comes down from it, his reflexes and intuition are faster than him and before he knows it, he’s curled up against Cas’ sweat-damp body, his face mere inches from Cas’.

“Well, that was amazing,” Castiel says, absent-mindedly rubbing his hand over the bed sheets to get the stain off – rude, but Dean has to do laundry anyway. So he just laughs, because at least one of them is brave enough to say it. He only nods to agree that yes, it indeed was.

A groan escapes Dean’s mouth when there’s knocking at his door only a few minutes later. “Good times are over,” he complains when Balthazar’s voice comes through, because, of course, this is the one night when he actually comes home at a reasonable hour.

Castiel pulls him back in when Dean tries to get up to fetch his clothes. “Wait,” he says in a mutter.

“Jesus!” comes from behind the door, “Are you kidding me? What am I supposed to do, sit here?”

“Yeah!” Dean yells back, letting himself to be brought back to Cas’ lips, for a tiny, brief moment. “What is it?” he asks into Cas’ mouth.

“Do you do dating?” he asks in a surprisingly small voice, as if unsure. Apparently, this is the part where one of them should say _no, I don’t do dating_ \-- Dean would bet that it has happened to both of them.

Dean nods eagerly, sparing himself the moment of doubt. “Yeah, I do. Why?”

Castiel smiles, willingly playing along. “I was wondering if you’d be up for uh, something. Maybe burgers at the diner?”

Dean huffs out another laugh, barely believing his luck – he’s finally getting his evening-at-the-diner instead of a party, and not only that; he’s getting it with this gorgeous boy, still lying naked in his bed. 

“I’d very much be up for that, yeah,” he says with a smile, cupping Cas’ cheeks and running his thumbs across the soft stubble. He manages to steal one more kiss. “We better get dressed, I need to let Balthazar in.”

And tell him that maybe Dean doesn’t hate him all that much after all. Yeah, looking at Cas with messy hair as he struggles to put on his jeans, Dean decides that that party was a damn good idea.


End file.
